


Smeared In Ink

by MagicInTheMundane



Category: Original Work
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Original Fiction, Slam Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInTheMundane/pseuds/MagicInTheMundane
Summary: This poem deals with an alternative to self harm and thoughts and feelings associated with mental illnesses.





	Smeared In Ink

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first poems I feel completely comfortable sharing with the world. That being said, there are themes of alternatives to self harm, and common thoughts and feelings associated with depression and anxiety that run throughout this work. If this is potentially triggering for you, you may want to opt out of reading it now, and possibly revisit it at a later date, if you feel more able, or are in a healthier, better mindset. 
> 
> Any constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated. Thank you for giving some of your time to read this poem, and I hope you have a brilliant day.

The ink dries on the paper as though desperate,  
For it’s liquid form  
to soak into something  
permanent.  
You see, I,  
have been using my body as a canvas,  
Believing I could eclipse the pain  
by scrawling  
All the hate filled words  
running through my mind,  
Onto the very flesh I despise 

The words,  
Razor sharp in their brutality,  
A haze of tarnished humanity,  
Spill from my fingertips,  
As the pen peels back the paleness of my skin,  
Revealing the truth of the ugly words within,  
You see I, am a sin.  
Not a saint by any means,  
Black intent bursting at the seams,  
I am a mess of contradictions. 

This poem,  
Knows it’s a godawful lens,  
Of the way I try desperately to pretend,  
That I am okay,  
alright,  
at ease,  
When in reality,  
I am nothing but the mistakes,  
I carelessly remake,  
Over and over again,  
Their cruel repetition  
A bizarre trend,  
A pattern I can’t seem to shake,  
Nor break.  
And,  
Here I go again.

I’m sorry,  
I know I’m too much.  
I’m too quiet, too stupid,  
Am I being too loud?  
I’m a freak, liar, whore,  
Bitch, fuck up, and  
More,  
This poem,  
Knows its far  
Too pretentious to be perfect,  
And I know I’m too sensitive,  
I need to stop, slow down,  
Reflect.  
Am I embarrassing myself yet? 

The ink black words  
cover me like a coat,  
A warm blanket of misery,  
I hide, and contain myself in,  
I am content in this camouflage  
This illusion of sanity,  
But like the rest of me,  
I am faded, a pretender of clarity. 

This poem knows it’s a god awful way,  
Of begging someone to notice  
That I am not okay.  
So, as the words dry on  
My flesh,  
I’ll admit,  
I’ll confess,  
that I feel alone  
In this unholy mess.


End file.
